I Might Be Wrong

All hail Thor, for today is Thor’s day or Thursday. And the god of thunder has been heard with his goat driven chariot a little while ago, going across the skies. It’s been a good day, my laundry is mostly dry now. I saw my old friend Martin Kelly this afternoon. He’s a shift supervisor at the local CVS and he’s a good man. We both worked together at Maxwells years ago and I have a fond memory of having dinner with Martin and his late mother a long time ago. We chatted for a while before he was called off to do something.

Last night was pretty mellow, me and Bill hanging out. We watched The Ed Show and some of the Olympics while he got his stuff together for the opening of the show he is stage managing tomorrow. Lots of drama going on, more than usual. Then again it is theater and what would theater be without drama? Comedy? I’m the sounding board for Bill and his daily tales of the problems with the cast. They’re his stories and so I am sure they will come out one way or another. I’m content to sit and listen to Bill.

I went to bed earlier than usual, not out of being tired, but rather out of being bored. I slept well and remember a dream I had regarding an apparition of the Virgin Mary. In the dream I touched whatever it was that Mary was appearing on and all of a sudden I could fly or rather float around. No one else in the dream had the ability to do this. Maybe it was from being under a yellow sun as opposed to the red sun I was initially born under. ‘Born under a red sun’, that sounds like a blues song.

Since I went to bed earlier it stands to reason that I woke up earlier. I busied myself soon enough, a shower, some coffee and cereal and a trip outside where I met Martin Kelly and then a trip to the mediocre supermarket nearby. I came home, sent out some resumes and read emails.

Apparently the Marlee Matlin/David Patterson job that I interviewed with in early May have filled the position and the underling I met with sent me an email to let me know. How nice of them to remind me of something I had totally forgotten about. I guess dropping Jimmy Seltzer’s name (as a friend of David Patterson) did not help me in the least.

Today was a good day for busking and last night I brushed up on Can’t Find My Way Home by Steve Winwood when he was in Blind Faith. I played it for Bill and all of a sudden he got real serious. It was unnerving but it turns out he might use that song for his one man show that he plans on putting on next year. Don’t worry I will relentlessly remind you of this grand event. Perhaps the two people that comment (and therefore I know that read this here blog) will be able to attend.

I showed Bill the Steve Winwood video from last night’s entry and explained to Bill that yes indeed that was the same Steve Winwood who sang ‘Higher Love’. Bill and his lack of knowing rock and roll can be quite charming. When Bill went to bed I continued practicing the guitar and figured out how to play Make Me Smile by Chicago. I never really liked Chicago but it is a good pop song. And after about a half hour I was swinging.

So I was busking this afternoon and came across a guy that I see from time to time. I don’t know his name but he’s a pleasant enough dude. And he can talk quite a bit. I was itching to play but he kept going on about meditation and Krishna consciousness. During a break in the conversation I finally was able to play Can’t Find My Way Home and sure enough a string broke. I can’t change a string to save my life and packed up and walked with the dude towards the Guitar Bar.

He talked about mantras and I told him a story from when I was growing up. It was a late Saturday afternoon and my father decided I needed a haircut. I didn’t want a haircut but I had no say in the matter. We got in the car and drove from Lodi to Fair Lawn. My father’s friend- John Fontana was a barber and had a shop. On the way there I chanted, Hare Krishna, Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, Jai Guru Deva and anything else I could think of.

We got to the barber shop and I was happy to see that it was closed. But inside was John Fontana and he opened just for us and I got my unwanted haircut. So the chanting helped to a point, the shop was closed. But to my dismay it was reopened just for me. Silly, tricksy gods.

The dude left me at Washington Street with a prayer, ‘Om Namah Shivaya’. I went to the Guitar Bar and saw Mr. Wonderful Jim Mastro. I explained that my string broke and he asked if I wanted the one string changed or all of them. I said all of them and then he asked when I needed it. I said as soon as possible. He was in the middle of something important, more important than little old me and lent me an Ibanez to use.

I strummed and made a couple of bucks again and a few hours later I came back and just like the old British TV show, ‘Jim’ll Fix It’, Jim fixed it. And at a good price. He’s a great guy. Love him. I left with a newly strung guitar, fourth time this week I have visited the Guitar Bar. Jim’s going to be touring with Ian Hunter & the Rant Band in a few months. See them if you can.

13 Can’t You Hear Me

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